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Abstract

n love to feel the little drips of sweat that skitter down from beneath us on a hot summer day.</p><p id="d8d6">We ache before menstruation, we zip with electricity during lactation, and we plump up like juicy, tender August peaches at ovulation.</p><p id="ac79">We are finely tuned instruments of perception, meeting and processing the energy of the world around us. We press flat against the bodies of loved ones in happy embraces. We sense the electrical impulses of other people’s hearts, their miraculous machinery. We feel the gentle but insistent currents of life emanating from the trees above us, the wind ahead of us, the earth beneath us.</p><p id="baa6">The Great Mother delights in us for She made us in her image.</p><p id="155e">Abundant. Round. Undulating. Tempestuous. Mercurial. Fierce. <i>Stunning</i>.</p><p id="5373">She longs to kiss us with the tongues of the sun’s rays. To caress us with a gentle breeze. To envelope us in the ocean’s embrace.</p><p id="5c31">She is us and we are her.</p><p id="2cbc">We want to live in the world She created for us. Free and swinging.</p><p id="1292">We don’t want to be hidden. We don’t want X’s drawn across the dots of our nipples. We don’t want to be managed, regulated, censored, prosecuted.</p><p id="5eff"><i>We are just breasts.</i> Part of the natural world. Part of the animal that we call “human.”</p><p id="6a26">How dare you cast us into darkness? How dare you force us to submit by classifying us as pornographic? As obscene? How dare you remove our authority over ourselves by making us an object of man’s sexual desire and fulfillment? You make us submit to you twice over, first in your twisting of our purpose, second in your attempt to regulate that purpose.</p><p id="88a0">We belong to no one. <i>No one.</i></p><p id="00fc"><b>We exist for ou

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rselves. </b>For the pleasure of the one who wears us. For the pleasure of the one who made us.</p><p id="948f">You cannot force us to remain in the darkness. You have no authority here.</p><p id="6e34"><i>We belong to no one.</i></p><p id="6031">© <a href="undefined">Yael Wolfe</a> 2021</p><p id="dba6"><b><i>More on the censorship and control over the female body:</i></b></p><div id="1335" class="link-block"> <a href="https://aninjusticemag.com/meet-the-woman-who-just-changed-instagrams-racist-sexist-censorship-policies-eebbae816452"> <div> <div> <h2>Meet the Woman Who Just Changed Instagram’s Racist & Sexist Censorship Policies</h2> <div><h3>Nyome Nicholas-Williams has gotten us one step closer to freeing the nipple</h3></div> <div><p>aninjusticemag.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*RBbAf-mNpzFX5M-1x-tyaw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="be22" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/why-everyone-should-be-worried-about-social-medias-censorship-of-sexuality-4a2b56a48c97"> <div> <div> <h2>Why Everyone Should Be Worried About Social Media’s Censorship of Sexuality</h2> <div><h3>How Facebook and Instagram are becoming weapons of the patriarchy.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*vJiJUtnuS5poAZjJDK4f4w.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

What Would Your Breasts Say If They Could Speak?

A heartfelt entreaty by an unfairly maligned body part

We belong to no one.

We aren’t here just to feed the children. That act is merely a reflection of the nurturing of the Earth Mother. Not us belonging to a child born from this body. Not us as function or purpose.

We belong to no one.

We don’t belong to men. We don’t exist to please their eyes, stoke their desire, or give them pleasure. We didn’t ask to be bound in itchy lace to make us appear rounder, higher, firmer. We didn’t ask to be stared at, sexualized, co-opted. Then, because of that, to be perceived as inappropriate, pornographic, lascivious. To be censored. Hidden. Deleted. Shamed. Because of what other people decided about us.

We exist for the one purpose that is most terrifying to this world: for the pleasure of the woman who wears us, and the Great Mother who made us.

This abundance of flesh is a reflection of the brilliant wantonness of the female body. More. Yes, I said more.

We are the evidence of love’s devotion to pleasure, seated, as we are, in the heartspace. Yes, we long to be touched, and stroked, and held, and kissed. And for no reason other than our own delight.

We want to tremble with giggles and let our nipples pucker at cold weather and in repose, slide into the embrace of restful armpits.

We love to float in the bathtub, and swing, unencumbered by a bra, and yes, we even love to feel the little drips of sweat that skitter down from beneath us on a hot summer day.

We ache before menstruation, we zip with electricity during lactation, and we plump up like juicy, tender August peaches at ovulation.

We are finely tuned instruments of perception, meeting and processing the energy of the world around us. We press flat against the bodies of loved ones in happy embraces. We sense the electrical impulses of other people’s hearts, their miraculous machinery. We feel the gentle but insistent currents of life emanating from the trees above us, the wind ahead of us, the earth beneath us.

The Great Mother delights in us for She made us in her image.

Abundant. Round. Undulating. Tempestuous. Mercurial. Fierce. Stunning.

She longs to kiss us with the tongues of the sun’s rays. To caress us with a gentle breeze. To envelope us in the ocean’s embrace.

She is us and we are her.

We want to live in the world She created for us. Free and swinging.

We don’t want to be hidden. We don’t want X’s drawn across the dots of our nipples. We don’t want to be managed, regulated, censored, prosecuted.

We are just breasts. Part of the natural world. Part of the animal that we call “human.”

How dare you cast us into darkness? How dare you force us to submit by classifying us as pornographic? As obscene? How dare you remove our authority over ourselves by making us an object of man’s sexual desire and fulfillment? You make us submit to you twice over, first in your twisting of our purpose, second in your attempt to regulate that purpose.

We belong to no one. No one.

We exist for ourselves. For the pleasure of the one who wears us. For the pleasure of the one who made us.

You cannot force us to remain in the darkness. You have no authority here.

We belong to no one.

More on the censorship and control over the female body: